ou leave me here the boys will only find some human
beef to carry back, an' that won't be worth the trouble."

"Don't say that, old chap," returned the other, in a low, gruff voice
which was the result of tender feeling. "Keep up heart--bless you, I'll
be back in no time."

"All right," said Swinton, with a resigned look, "go an' fetch the boys.
But I say, Grummidge, shake hands before you go, I don't want to carry
a grudge agin you into the next world if I can help it. Goodbye."

"No, no, mate, if that's to be the way of it I'll stick to 'ee. D'ye
think you could manage to git on my back?"

"I'll try."

With much heaving, and many half-suppressed groans from the one, and
"heave-ho's" from the other, Big Swinton was at last mounted on his
comrade's broad shoulders, and the two started for home. It was a long
and weary journey, for Grummidge found the road rough and the load
heavy, but before night he deposited his old enemy in a bunk in the
large room of the settlement and then himself sank fainting on the
floor--not, we need scarcely add, from the effect of sentimental
feeling, but because of prolonged severe exertion, coupled with loss of
blood.

Two days later Grummidge sat by the side of Swinton's bunk. It was
early forenoon, and they were alone--all the other men being out on
various avocations.

Blackboy, the large dog, lay asleep on the floor beside them.

Suddenly the dog jumped up, ran to the door, and began to whine
restlessly.

"Wolves about, I suppose," said Grummidge, rising and opening the door.

Blackboy bounded away in wild haste.

"H'm! he seems in a hurry. Perhaps it's a bear this time. Well, mate,
how d'ye feel now?" he added, closing the door and returning to his
seat.

"Grummidge," said the sick man, in a low voice, "I'll never git over
this. That seal have done for me. There's injury somewheres inside o'
me, I feel sure on it. But that's not what I was going to speak about.
I want to make a clean breast of it afore I goes. I've been a bad man,
Grummidge, there's no question about that in my own mind, whatever may
be in the mind of others. I had even gone the length of making up my
mind to murder _you_, the first safe chance I got, for which, and all
else I've done and thought agin ye, I ax your pardon."

"You have it" said his friend earnestly. "Thank 'ee. That's just what
I expected, Grummidge. Now what I want to know is, d'ye think God will
forgive _me_?"

The se